


Double Treble

by poD7et



Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Crochet, I APOLOGIZE, Knitting, M/M, Marital Problems, Multi, and not in the fic, i spent too much time putting my puns into the summary, stitch and bitch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-11
Updated: 2016-02-11
Packaged: 2018-05-19 15:37:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,596
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5972173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poD7et/pseuds/poD7et
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Garth’s stitch and bitch is infamous for helping those in need work through their problems regardless of race, religion, color, or sexual orientation. But will he and Mr. Fizzles be able to imbue enough purls of wisdom to seamlessly weave in the ends of Castiel and Crowley’s Fair Isle relationship?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Double Treble

No one saw it coming, but then again, no one was actually surprised either. Some said that it was a match made in Heaven. Others loyal to the former King would have it known that it was actually a match made in Hell. But truth be told, it was mostly a match made on Earth. After all, that _is_ where Cas and Crowley first met.

And despite being a bit of an odd couple, they were now happily married. Well, they were married. The happy half was up for debate.

When in public, the two stared daggers at each other. If looks could kill-- and in both Castiel and Crowley’s case they more or less could-- the pair should have been dead ages ago. So the fact that they were both still alive and kicking (and in some cases quite literally kicking) only proved how strong their love for each other really was. And that’s not even taking into account the fact that Crowley gave up his throne for Cas, and Cas stopped smiting _every_ demon that crossed his path. Now Crowley is the chief advisor to the throne and Castiel usually opts for a stern “talking to” rather than an angel blade through the heart.

But the duo’s public interactions really did turn heads. People wondered what their behavior behind closed doors was like. Most assumed they were the most loved-up domestic couple and that their bickering was only for posterity’s sake. But those people would be wrong. In actuality, their private relationship wasn’t all that different from their public one. Sure, there was often less clothing and a significantly greater proportion of time was spent touching each other’s ‘bathing suit areas’, but one would be hard pressed to define these interactions as friendly, loving, gentle, or any other term generally associated with happily married couples. Rather, sex could be more accurately described as scathing, vengeful, or just a tangle of limbs in an entirely unsexy bid for dominance. Often, these skirmishes ended with neither party reaching climax and two sexually frustrated supernatural beings glaring at each other from opposite sides of the bed.

“Perhaps I’d be more willing to comply if you’d be more faithful.” Castiel growled pulling away from Crowley. “I saw you with that woman the other day.”

“Completely innocent conversation. It was just a engaging her in friendly convers--”

“Friendly?” Castiel scoffed. “I’ll give you that. But that woman was a whore. And you weren’t even wearing your wedding band, brugmansia.”

“Harmless flirting, honey bee.”

“I feel that you may have more than one honey bee.” Cas pouted. “I thought I was your one and only.”.

Crowley hesitated. The pouty face was his weakness. But his resolve hardened. As did his cock. “Yes, _darling_ , you _are_ my one and only. But I can’t help it if your father deemed it necessary to make his creations so . . . delectable.”

Cas cringed at his father’s name. “Don’t bring my father in this, _Fergus_.”

Crowley stepped toward Castiel menacingly. The angel didn’t flinch. Crowley drew himself up to his full height, but Cas still towered over him. It must have been some trick of his grace that made Crowley feel so small when he knew the difference in their vessels’ height couldn’t have been more than a few inches. And that would also explain why Cas’s eyes burned so bright and blue. Crowley could get lost in those eyes for days. And in this moment he couldn’t look away. Not even as he felt the tip of an angel blade pressing into the base of his neck. Or as he felt it slide down his back stopping just above his entrance.

Crowley swallowed. “Hello, _Clarence_. Jonesing for a tussle?”

Castiel glowered and then literally began to glow as he mashed his lips roughly against Crowley’s. Cas ground their hips together savagely. The former King of Hell fought to gain control, but to no avail. He opened his eyes-- which he hadn’t realized he had closed until just now-- and saw his angel’s blue ones focused intently on his own. Crowley imagined what Castiel saw. He knew that in this lustful state they must be smoldering red.

Crowley stopped struggling against his lover. He knew this battle was lost. He only won when Castiel has a mind for it. Because although he hated to admit it, in a fair fight, hell, even in a dirty one, the damned angel had him beat. And as much as he hated to feel weak, or worse, to feel like he was being used, being used by Cas wasn’t that bad. Besides if he didn’t give in, he knew there would be no release for him this evening. 

* * *

 

 

The next morning, Crowley woke alone. In the predawn darkness, he spotted the glow of a LCD screen and saw Cas grinning stupidly at his laptop. Crowley rose to see what the fuss was about. Except for the part where he didn’t. Crowley was cuffed to the headboard. He smiled as he reminisced over the previous night’s events. But then he remembered that this was not last night. He remembered that he had things to do and places to be. Crowley yanked on his bindings, but they held fast. He pulled again, this time exercising his demonic powers. Nothing. He looked down at his restraints and saw symbols etched into the metal that would bind him until someone deemed it worthwhile to release him. Well, either that or until the metal rusted over. Crowley made a noise in the back of his throat that very clearly conveyed his exact level of frustration with the situation.

The sound caught Cas’s attention and he turned slowly with a lazy grin still plastered across his face. “Looks like someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed.”

“I’m up, but I haven’t chosen a side, right or wrong, since I’m tETHERED TO THE GOD DAMNED BED!”

“I don’t understand why you always feel the need to bring my father into this. He doesn’t _damn_ anything anymore. And even if he did, he most certainly wouldn’t care enough to damn this particular bed.”

“Cas, _darling_ , I just wish you would gET. THESE. OFF. OF. ME.”

“What’s the magic word?” Cas teased. He picked that one up from Crowley. It was cute the first time, but now Crowley just found it irritating.

“ _Please_ , get these off of me you good for nothing creten!”

“If I recall properly, that’s not what you were saying last night.” Cas said with his smile slowly morphing from lazy into what could more accurately be described as devilish.

“For Christ's sake just get these off or I swear when the metal rusts I will find you and kill you!”

_DING-DONG_

“COMING!” Cas called as he disappeared with the sound of beating wings.

Crowley grumbled his disapproval and listened to his husband make small talk with someone who sounded like their neighbor, Garth. How that sad excuse for a hunter survived to this day was something that Crowley would never be able to get his head around. And for a moment, he was glad he was imprisoned on the bed. Because now he wouldn’t be forced to make polite conversation with the dolt.

After what seemed like eons, Crowley heard the front door click shut and steady footfalls coming up the stairs. Castiel decided to walk. Normally in these situations, Cas would fly back up to the bedroom so as to not waste any time in resuming his torture of the former King. But no, Castiel _wanted_ Crowley to hear him coming. Castiel _wanted_ Crowley to have time to ponder what sort of misery was in store for him next. But despite his surface level anger and frustration, Crowley was proud. He had thoroughly corrupted this former Angel of the Lord. He taught Cas that the worst fear one could instill was the waiting under the threat of the unknown. And right now, Crowley had no idea what was in store for him. Cas opened the door, but didn’t cross the threshold into the room. And the little bastard actually have enough nerve to smirk before he opened his mouth. And Crowley knew that nothing good was about to come out of the blessed thing.

“Alright. Get on with it.” he urged.

“Garth is starting a stitch and bitch club and I signed us bo--”

“No.”

“But, you’re quite adept. I see the doilies you’ve ma--”

“I do _not_ knit.”

“No need to be ashamed. Garth says that knitting is an activity that people or supernatural beings of any race, religion, color, sexual orientation, or gender designation can enjoy.”

“I said, I do not _knit_.”

“Honestly, Crowley. For someone as progressive as yourself, I don’t see why you would have such a problem with kni--”

“I DO NOT KNIT. I CROCHET!”

“Crow . . . shay? Is this like that whole J-Lo thing you were explaining the other day? Do you want me to call you Crow-shay? Is that what the cool kids are doing?”

“What?!” Crowley’s entire body recoiled at Cas’s absurd inquiry. _What the hell . . ._ “No. I-- I . . . no! I do not _knit_. I _CROCHET_. It’s significantly more versatile art than knitting.”

“Really? I’m sure Garth would appreciate your opinion. You should come!”

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“With honey on top?”

“Well, now that you mention it, how about . . . no.”

“And kisses?”

“No.”

“I’ll let you be the big spoon.”

Crowley took a few seconds to mull this one over. It was tempting, but his answer was still, “ . . . no.”

“I’ll let you use those cuffs on me however you’d like.” Castiel’s smile had turned from devilish to obscene.

 _Damn._ This marked Crowley’s second defeat in less than 24 hours. “Shall I use the standard rider, or would you rather seal it with a kiss?”

Castiel climbed onto the bed and straddled Crowley. He could feel the heat of Castiel’s breath on his face. And it worked to fuel the heat of his arousal.

“Oh, you’ll love it. It starts tomorrow!” Cas beamed leaning down and delivering the most sinful closed mouth kiss that Crowley had ever experienced.

It took him a moment to compose himself. He didn’t even realize Castiel was no longer on the bed. He held out his bound arm to Cas looking petulant as ever. The angel rolled his eyes, then removed the cuffs.

“See you at Garth’s tomorrow at three.” Cas called over his shoulder as he left the room.

Crowley rolled his eyes and muttered, “Great.” 

* * *

 

The next afternoon, Cas walked to Garth’s stitch and bitch. He would have flown, but he enjoyed how the sun warmed his skin. He arrived at the door and searched for a means to alert Garth to his presence. He wondered if the hunter had a doorbell and if not whether it would be considered rude to simply rap on the door. Cas raised his fist, but as he went to knock the door opened. He stopped his hand just before it would have clocked him squarely on the nose. Garth took a step back and raised his hand to Cas’s fist for a handshake.

“Right on time!” Garth exclaimed. He waited for Cas to accept his handshake, but after an awkwardly long time of being left hanging, He decided to embrace the stoic angel instead. Cas took a beat to remember he should return the gesture.

“Hello, Garth.”

“Cas, where’s Crowley? You’ll never solve your marital affairs if you don’t spend time together. ” Garth placed both hands on his hips.

Cas didn’t answer.

Garth lowered his voice and added, “Don’t tell me you let him off the hook. You told me he was coming. Plus, I made finger sandwiches!” Garth motioned to what appeared to be cucumber and mint sandwiches and a pitcher of homemade lemonade.

In addition to the refreshments, Garth’s coffee table was also adorned with tufts of unspun wool, a few skeins of yarn, various sized and shaped knitting utensils and some hats and socks and such.

“Crowley ‘said’ he had some ‘business’ to ‘attend’ to, but he’ll be here.” _Or I’ll make him wish he was still cuffed to the bed._ Cas thought.

“Okay . . . inappropriate use of air quotes, but let’s not get into that. Why don’t you take a seat and have a snack.” Garth offered as he gestured toward the L-shaped couch/chaise lounge combo surrounding the table.

“My vessel doesn’t require human sustenance.” Castiel stated matter-of-factly which caused Garth’s whole face to droop. “I-- I mean, of course, I’d be willing to . . . try one? They look quite appetizing.” he amended.

Garth grinned his biggest grin. “Thanks Cas.”

Castiel walked to the couch and inspected the cushions that were encased in cabled slips. “Did you make these yourself?”

It didn’t seem possible, but Garth’s grin widened. “Yes. They’re my own design too!”

“You possess a great level of skill. I look forward to your tutelage.”

“We’ll start as soon as Crowley arrives.”

“Hello, boys.”

Garth and Castiel turned in unison and see the former King of Hell standing in the doorway looking like his usual dapper self.

“What? Is there something on my face?” Crowley asked as he ran his fingers through his scruff searching for the offensive debris.

“No . . . No! We’re just happy to see you. C’mon. Let’s get started!” Garth replied cheerily.

The trio arranged themselves on the couch. and Garth grabbed a sock off the table. He pulled it over his hand and tucked the toe between his fingers and thumb. “First let’s start with a brief history of knitting.” He turned the sock toward his own face and said, “I hear you’re a bit of an expert in that field, isn’t that right Mr. Fizzles?”

“That’s right!” Mr. Fizzles the sock-puppet exclaimed. “You might even say that history is spun within every fiber of my being!”

“Mr. Fizzles, you’re a riot!” Garth laughed.

“No.” was Crowley’s response of ultimate disambiguation. Then he poofed out of the session.

* * *

 “You shouldn’t have left.”

“Well, _he_ shouldn’t be allowed out of the institution, but here we are.”

“It was actually quite informative.” Castiel replied, leaning in close and raising his left eyebrow. “And I intend to impart that information on you this evening.”

“You and what army?” Crowley challenged with faux bravado.

Castiel closed the distance between them and Crowley back pedaled until he stumbled onto the bed.

Cas smiled and looked up. Crowley followed his gaze and saw the devil’s trap drawn on the ceiling. _Fuck._ It was going to be one of those nights.

“You see,” Castiel said as he produced several lengths of rope. “The word knit is derived from the Old English cnyttan meaning ‘to knot.’” Castiel expertly wound the rope around Crowley. “And the Danish, nålebinding literally means to bind with needles.” He added producing several long knitting needles.

“Mr. Fizzles said that it is important to experiment with different fibers and needles.” he added positioning himself on the edge of the bed and taking out a pair of plastic bee-topped novelty needles. He carefully created a slip knot and slid the needle into the loop. “It’s important to tighten the loop without pulling too tightly. The tension of the cast on row can limit the elasticity of the entire project.”

“Are you seriously going to sit there and recite information you learned from a sock?”

“Of course!” Cas exclaimed bending over and reaching for the bedside table. He pulled open a drawer and grabbed the ball gag hidden within. He fitted it in Crowley’s mouth. “You left early, so I’m going to need to catch you up on everything you missed.”

Crowley grunted and rolled his eyes.

“Now there are several cast-on methods. Each have several benefits and drawbacks. However, depending on the type of project . . .”

Crowley immediately regretted his decision to leave today’s session early. It was a mistake he did not intend on making again. 

* * *

Cas and Crowley arrived for their second stitch and bitch together. Mr. Fizzles was thankfully absent.

Garth started by presenting Castiel with the ‘washcloth’ he had worked on the previous week. There were clearly a multitude of consistency issues with Cas’s tension. And the way the piece tapered toward the top alluded to the fact that the angel probably lost a few stitches on the way.

Castiel’s cheeks flushed red. “Thank you for weaving in the ends for me, Garth. I can’t wait to learn how to finish my own projects.”

Crowley coughed loudly.

“Do you have something you’d like to say, Crowley?” Garth asked with raised eyebrows.

“Not a word.” Crowley answered forcing himself to smile.

“Well, in that case, why don’t we get started.” Garth motioned toward the coffee table. Castiel sat on the chaise. Crowley pulled up a straight backed chair, and Garth sat on the couch proper.

“I brought my own knitting needles today.” Cas announced abruptly. He held up the bee-topped needles Crowley recognized from last week’s “knitting tutorial.”

“Oh, I have the perfect yarn for you! Garth said running from the room. He came back in holding a two large skeins of cheap variegated yarn that would most likely result in yellow and purple stripes. Castiel seemed very excited to start.

“And for you?” Garth asked.

“I don’t knit.” Crowley answered tersely.

“Well, today is as good as any to start!” Garth countered.

“I suppose. This _is_ a ‘stitch-and-bitch’ right?”

“Of course! Glad to see you’ve come arou--”

“Cas will stitch and I’ll bitch." Crowley snarked.

“Well, if you change your mind, we won’t hold it against you. Right Cas?”

Crowley scoffed. Then he turned to see Castiel wiggling his fingers obscenely in the middle of his new skein of yarn.

“What in God’s name is he doing?” Crowley muttered more to himself than anyone else.

“I know we spoke about using my father’s name so haphazardly. But if you must know, I’m trying to find the center end of the yarn. Last week, Mr. Fizzles said that there are benefits to using a center pull for skeins of yarn. It helps to alleviate many tension inconsistencies, especially for new knitters.”

“I don’t think anything could help with your consistency issues.” Crowley snorted as he examined Cas’s washcloth.

Castiel’s happy buzz started to fade.

“Don’t listen to him, Cas.” Garth said placing a hand on his shoulder. “He might talk the talk, but he can’t judge you until he’s tried it himself, right?”

Cas sat a little taller and focused intently on finding the center end of his yarn. He latched onto something and pulled out what looked like half the skein. It was a hot mess.

“Give that to me.” Crowley growled attempting to grab the mess from Cas. But he was so deeply entangled, that he gave up and just grabbed the other skein. He reached inside and neatly pulled out the center end, before handing it back to Cas.

Castiel and Garth stared in awe.

“That was good. Actually, that was great. You have some talented fingers. You’re like a yarn doctor. A yarn specialist! You’re a yarn . . . a yarn . . . a yarn surgeon!” Garth blurted.

“More like a yarn gynecologist.” Cas quipped in a failed attempt to insult his husband.

“More like yarn proctologist.” Crowley corrected with a mischievous grin. “But you wouldn’t know anything about that since _someone_ always has to be on top and in control.”

Garth cocked an eyebrow at Castiel, before he started to preach, “Great . . . _knitting_ involves balance. You can’t hold on too tight,” he said to Castiel. He slowly turned toward Crowley before continuing, “But you also can’t lose interest. If you let the tension become too lax, you run the risk of losing everything. You need to keep your attention on the _yarn_ and know when to pull and when to push and when to leave well enough alone.”

Crowley looked sideways at Garth. “. . . knitting. Right.”

* * *

The next session Crowley was still actively not participating in the needlework. However he did enjoy critiquing each of Castiel’s projects. Most of which are misshapen square-ish or rectangle-ish . . . things.

“Crowley! If you can’t say anything nice, don’t say anything at all!” Garth warned.

“I only speak the truth. Speaking of which, why aren’t there any other members in this stitch and bitch?”

“I said, not to say anything if you can’t keep it civil! But if you can’t keep it to yourself, then maybe you should just leave.”

“Gladly.”

Crowley snapped his fingers and he was gone.

Cas sighed loudly.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Cas.” Garth apologized. “I didn’t mean to. He just gets under my skin sometimes, you know?”

“It’s alright, Garth. It wasn’t your fault.” Cas awkwardly patted the back of Garth’s head that had somehow found its way to the angel’s shoulder.

Just then, someone cleared their throat. Garth and Castiel turned to see Crowley holding a tumbler of whiskey in one hand and a spool of silky black thread and a crimson crochet hook in the other.

“I hate to break up this touching moment, but if you don’t get your hands off my angel I plan on removing them.”

“Oh!” Garth replied still leaning on Castiel.

“From your body.” Crowley threatened.

Garth quickly put ample space between himself and Cas.

Cas beamed to see his brugmansia back.

“Don’t get too excited Chuckles. I didn’t come back for you.” Crowley saw Cas start to whimper. “I mean, I came back for you, but that was only part of the reason. I just needed to grab a few things. When I left, I, uh . . . remembered my um, punishment. And decided to come back and apolufalala . . .”

“What did you just say?” Garth asked innocently.

“I said I’m sowerumuhwhatever.”

“What?”

“Just get on with it.” Crowley urged.

“Right. So, I see you brought your own materials. Anything you want to share with the class?”

“What class?”

Castiel shot him a sharp look. Crowley exhaled sharply. “This is a crochet hook, this is crochet thread, and this is approximately two fingers of a Glencraig single-malt, neat.”

“Do you have a particular project in mind?” Cas asked although he already knew the answer.

“I’m going to make one of those lace doilies you fancy.” Crowley answered. “What about you, honey bee?”

“I’m going to knit a doily too.” Cas answered puffing out his chest and raising his chin.

“No.”

“Yes. I am.” Cas said cocking his head to the side in confusion.

“Actually, Cas, I hate to take his side on this, but you can’t actually knit a doily.” Garth agreed.

“Why not?”

“Because crochet is a much more versatile art than knitting. You just can’t knit a doily.” Crowley answered. “At least not a proper one.”

“Well, just because no one has been successful in the past is no reason to give up hope. I will knit a doily.”

“You can’t knit a circle. Hell, _you_ can’t even knit a damn rectangle. And the lace work . . .”

“You know what, Cas? I think I might have some lace weight yarn in the back somewhere. Just give me a moment.” Garth said making his way to the next room.

“Don’t worry, Garth. This will do just fine.” Cas answered holding an economy sized skein of neon orange worsted weight yarn.

Crowley rubbed his temples with his thumb and middle finger. “Cas, you can’t knit a doily. And you certainly can’t knit a doily with _that_.”

“Never say never, brugmansia .” 

* * *

The following week Crowley showed up to the stitch and bitch first. He had made the most intricate doily that Garth had ever seen.

Cas on the other hand, was late. And Crowley was more than a little perturbed. He waited impatiently pacing the floor while Garth tried to fill the awkward silence with compliments about Crowley’s handiwork. Finally Castiel arrived with a rush of wind sending tufts of unspun wool fluttering across the room.

He was smiling from ear to ear.

“Alright honey bee, bring it out.” Crowley moaned.

And that’s when Castiel produced a roughly roundish, or rather pentagonal-ish, neon orange monstrosity with a nearly two foot ‘diameter.’

“Wow!” Garth said with all the sincerity he could muster (which wasn’t much). His smile looked painted on, but Castiel didn’t seem to notice. “That’s amazing. You actually knit a doily. A really great worsted weight, knitted, neon orange doily . . . It’s uh, almost as good as Crowley’s!”

Cas frowned at the comparison to his husband. Garth recognized his mistake in comparing Cas’s avant garde project to the demon’s dainty doily. He attempted to recover by adding “And the color! It it really pops out at you and says, ‘Orange is the new black.’ Am I right? Or am I right?”

Cas raised his brow at Garth. “I’m not sure I understand how orange correlates to black in a way that is new.” he replied.

“Well, since we’re showing off our work, this is mine.” Crowley announced cockily handing his project to Castiel for inspection.

Cas wilted.

“This is really great, Crowley.” he admitted.

“So what do you have to say now?” Crowley asked.

Cas stared at his shoes.

“C’mon now. Tell Crowley what you’re thinking.”

“You can’t knit a doily.”

“And . . . ?”

“You’re the . . .” Cas took a deep breath. “ You’re the King.”

“And I think we can all agree that orange is most certainly not the new black.”

“Now let’s not make this a dick waving contest.” Garth interjected.

“Who said anything about dicks?” Crowley asked.

“I thought we were talking about doilies.” Cas added.

“We are.” Garth agreed. “But can’t we agree that Cas found himself a quaint little niche for knitted doilies? He’s pioneering a new field! Oversized doilies!”

“Bigger isn’t always better.” Crowley quipped before realizing the implication of what he said. “Not that I-- he-- we-- nevermind.”

Flabbergasted, Crowley earned a sheepish grin from Cas.

“You’re right Crowley. You did have the more refined doily. Even if it was smaller.” Garth said pointedly.

“. . .”

“Not that small,” Cas whispered, “And certainly easy on the eyes.”

“I would have to think that most people would agree that yours was the more visually pleasing of the two.” Garth replied. “Besides, like you said, bigger isn’t always better. For instance, I’m sure you had to use a small hook to create such delicate features.”

Garth looked at Crowley for confirmation. Instead, what he saw was Crowley holding the biggest, blackest crochet hook that Garth had ever seen. And there was a gleam in his eye. The way that he was holding the thing, it seemed as if he were planning on using it to gouge out Garth’s intestines.

“How about we take some time off. You know, give ourselves some time relax and calm down? Maybe we could try this again next week.” Garth suggested.

Castiel didn’t hesitate. He stretched his wings and was gone. Crowley gave Garth the most menacing wink he had ever seen before snapping himself back home. Alone. Castiel was nowhere to be seen.

* * *

 Cas didn’t fly home. Instead he flew to the Men of Letters bunker to visit Sam and Dean. It had been months, maybe even years since Castiel has visited either of the Winchesters. He stopped counting the days. He knew what they thought of him. They did not approve of his relationship with Crowley. At first Cas tried to explain how Crowley had changed. But neither brother wanted to hear anything about it. So he did what he felt he needed to do. He left.

He still listened to their prayers everyday. He heard their conscious and unconscious hopes and dreams. They missed him. But he didn’t have the nerve to go back before today. And he was only here because right now he wasn’t ready to go home, but he also wasn’t ready to be alone either.

As it turned out, he had nothing to be nervous about. Sam and Dean welcomed Castiel with open arms. There was no mention of the Crowley situation. At least not until Castiel spilled everything. Dean embraced Cas as if nothing had changed. He didn’t say anything, but he didn’t need to. Castiel heard Dean’s prayer. _Goddammit Cas. Consorting with demons. Consorting with_ Crowley _. What were you thinking. This is what you get. But if he ever shows his face I’ll gank the son of a bitch. I’ll take care of you now. I pray that Crowley tries to come at us. I’ll destroy him._

Sam took a different tack and lauded Castiel’s doily. However, Cas heard nothing, but Sam’s thoughts. _Wow, not even a mother could love that thing. I wonder what Dean thinks. I wonder if he still loves Cas. I pray that if it can’t be Cas, Dean finds someone who can love him the way he deserves._

“What do you think, Dean?” Sam asked.

“Yeah, we missed you pal.” Dean answered avoiding the question altogether.

Just then, Charlie and Kevin popped in.

“Guys, look who it is!” Dean shouted. He exhaled at this excuse to avoid commenting on the abomination that was Cas’s doily.

Charlie and Kevin ran over to greet the angel.

“What’s that?” Kevin asked pointing at the orange doily as if it may jump up and bite him at any moment.

“ _That_ is Castiel’s doily. He designed it himself.” Dean answered while silently urging them to compliment the disaster.

“Wow, Cas!” Charlie said, “That’s really um, bright. And uh, unique!”

“My thoughts exactly!” Kevin quickly agreed.

“You all hate it.” Cas whined.

“No. Hey, Cas.” Dean comforted, “You said it yourself. You’re new to all this. And this was just your first attempt. I’m sure you can only improve from here on out. Right guys?” Dean stared down Sam, Charlie, and Kevin to ensure that they agreed.

The group encouraged Cas to keep working and he did. Although sometimes he lost focus. He would mumble things about missing his home and Crowley, but despite his complaints, Cas stayed at the bunker for the next two weeks. He holed up in Sam’s room for some quality time with Netflix and several skeins of lace weight yarn. He honed his skills. The first few attempts were disasters, but given that Cas didn’t need to eat, drink, sleep, or void his bowels, he was able to utilize all of his time to make some quality doilies. But even better, he knit an entire lace tablecloth with a motif of brugmansias or as they’re more commonly known, angel’s trumpets. With the approval of his pals, he took his work and set off for Garth’s. 

* * *

Castiel stood at the door and suddenly realized that he has missed last week’s session. He realized that Crowley might not even be at the stitch and bitch. That Crowley might not even be waiting for him at home. But his fears proved to be unfounded when the demon joined him at the front door.

“Missed you, honey bee.” he crooned.

Castiel leaned over to Crowley’s ear and whispered, “Missed you too, brugmansia.”

Garth opened the door and the two quickly parted and resumed their bitch faces.

Garth and Crowley examined Castiel’s new projects. They were both amazed at the quality of Castiel’s doilies. Garth thought they were crocheted at first, but upon closer inspection, it was clear that these patterns were knit.

Then Castiel unveiled his secret weapon. He fluffed his tablecloth and let it flutter to the floor. It was huge. And detailed. And perfect. It wasn’t quite white. It was the palest pink and the lace pattern was more complex than any of Crowley’s.

Garth was so blown away that he lost the ability to speak coherently.

“Say it, Crowley.”

“Alright, I admit you have some skill.”

Castiel beamed. “Say the other thing.”

“Seriously?”

“Yes.”

Crowley rolled his eyes. “Fine. Pink lace is the new black.”

* * *

 That night, Castiel and Crowley went home together. They got into bed and Cas instinctively went to push Crowley over and curl up behind him, but he stopped himself. _Know when to push and when to pull_. Instead he turned over and pulled Crowley’s arm around him.

“Goodnight, Brugmansia.”

“Goodnight, honey bee.”

* * *

 The next morning, he turned over and saw his lover still asleep. He gently roused his partner.

“Ugh.”

“Wake up.”

“Why . . . ?”

“I had the strangest dream last night. And you were in it.”

“What the hell are you going on about this time, Misha? It was just a dream.”

“But it wasn’t a dream. It was a place. And I remember that some of it wasn’t very nice. But most of it was beautiful.” he asserted turning over and poking the skinny fellow on his other side. “DJ, you were there too.”

“I was where?”

“Just ignore him.” Jensen offered. “He’s probably still high.”

“And you were there!” Misha repeated.

“What about me?!” Felicia asked impatiently.

“Yeah, you were there too. And I think you were kinda gay.”

Felicia smiled.

“Yeah, I get it. And I bet I was there too.” Osric offered.

“What time is it?” Jared yawned.

“Time to get washed up for the orgy.” Misha stated as he climbed over Mark to get out of the bed.

No one other than Osric was making any progress, so Misha reached for the blankets. He was going to rip them off the bed and hope the hit of cold air would wake them up, but when he reached down, he saw it. The blanket was one he had never seen before. At least not while he was awake. It was the palest pink with a lace pattern of angel’s trumpets. It couldn’t be . . . could it?

THE END. 

. . . or is it?

**Author's Note:**

> Written for spn coldest hits. Prompt: Pink Lace is the New Black.
> 
> http://spncoldesthits.tumblr.com/
> 
> If I had more time I would've inserted a knitting chart in here. I still might . . .
> 
>  *****Forgotten Scene #1*****  
>  So I missed an epic yarn pun that I had planned before drunk writing this and I’m so upset with myself.
> 
> So there are two strains of knitters. Continental and English knitters. English knitters, like myself (listen, don’t judge, my grandma is English and she taught me to knit) ‘throw’ their yarn around the needle. 
> 
> So you see, Crowley was supposed to watch Cas knitting and be ready to throw all the shade, but then he sees Cas is actually THROWING the yarn.
> 
> And Crowley’s all like, “You tHROW? That’s like pleb level knitting.”
> 
> And Cas is all like, “What on this good Earth are you talking about? There’s another way to knit?”
> 
> And Crowley explains that you can be much more efficient if you wrap the yarn continental style.
> 
> Garth innocently asks something like, “What’s wrong with a good throw?”
> 
> Crowley snaps something about how Cas is always the dominant one doing the throwing or some other sexual innuendo.
> 
> And Cas is confused because well, “But what do you have against this form of knitting? It’s about enjoying yourself! Not just efficiency. And besides, you’re English! You shouldn’t be so prejudiced against your own people.”
> 
> And then Crowley is ultra pissed because he’s Scottish and no one seems to get that. And piss off, tosser. 
> 
> And then Cas innocently makes a comment about Garth and Mr. Fizzles and this is where the Garth/Fizzles would maybe have been mentioned.
> 
> I APOLOGIZE FOR NOT INCLUDING THIS!!!!
> 
> *****The Ending That Wasn't (because I got too lazy)*****
> 
> Also, I almost plot twisted the plot twist. With Crowley waking up and nudging Cas awake and telling him that he had the weirdest dream. And repeating everything and then another voice mumbling something like “What time is it? Go to sleep” And then Mr. Fizzles doling out punishments because he did NOT give anyone permission to speak.
> 
> Then we cut to a new scene where Garth wakes up from the strangest dream and he's with Bess, the werewolf, and he had the strangest dream and she was there and then Mrs. Fizzles (not a typo, Bess has a sock puppet too) soothes Garth and then Mr. Fizzles comes out and is jealous and then the sock-puppets make up and have all the crazy make-up sex and then Garth is like "Ugh, get a room."
> 
> *****More Forgotten Jokes*****
> 
> I originally set out to have long stretches of Cas just knitting and talking himself through it, but not alerting the read to it. And talking about Cas's stick going in and out and in and out and and in and out and starting slowly and awkwardly, but building up a great rhythm. And then missing. And the groan that elicited from Crowley. 
> 
> And I can't believe I didn't have more lines about fingering.


End file.
